


i'd give you my heart (but i'd just fuck it up)

by punkrockbadger



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Character of Color, F/M, LGBTQ Themes, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-25
Updated: 2014-09-25
Packaged: 2018-02-18 16:49:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2355551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkrockbadger/pseuds/punkrockbadger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And when he meets the pretty, sandy haired boy on the train, he remembers the story of Remus and Romulus from the storybooks, remembers the baby boy who grew up to change the world, and wonders if they could change the world, the two of the together, so that their names might mean greater things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'd give you my heart (but i'd just fuck it up)

When Sirius learns the meaning of his name and speaks brightly of being destined to be a star, of a name that is just as regal as the set of his shoulders and means burning and glowing, like the fire that lurks in his eyes if you know where to look for it, James looks for answers too. He wants to know what his name means, what secrets lurk behind these five letters he prints neatly and how they encompass him.

He has always been looking, this boy, with his dark skin and unruly black hair and the rectangular glasses that slide down his slightly crooked nose, which he broke jumping off a swing when he was four. He wanted to know if he could fly, he’d told his mother, when she sighed and waved her wand at it. He wanted to fly, wanted to jump into the air and grow wings that would carry him away, and his mother only sighed, hugging him tightly.

“James”, he reads, from the baby name book. “The supplanter.” Perhaps, he reasons, a supplanter is a planter in which people put soup. Or maybe it refers to the cans in which people grow soup plants. He carries the heavy book down the stairs, blowing on the paper to try and keep the right page open, and finds his father in the blue pinstriped chair in the study.

“Dad?” James asks, sticking his tongue through the gap left by his missing front teeth while he waited for his father’s answering nod. “What’s a supplanter?”

“It’s someone who brings a new beginning, Jamie.” His father explains, looking up to smile at his little son, whose arms are shaking as he tries to hold up the book. “The leader of a revolution, if you will.”

“A new beginning.” James whispers in a trembling voice, like a prayer, and promptly drops the book on his feet in his excitement. His father laughs as James sheepishly picks up the book, depositing it on the closest table before trying to lift his foot far enough up to see if it has suffered any damage. He topples over, due to his terrible balance. “A leader? Me?”

“So we hope.” Mr. Potter smirks as James decides his foot is fine after all and runs downstairs as if he is being chased by Death itself, full to the brim of fire. He is the herald of a new age, the prophet of a new destiny. He will change things for the better, fix all the problems with a wave of his wand, and improve the world by leaps and bounds.

But he is only six, and does not know that you cannot do too much in fifteen years.

And when he meets the pretty, sandy haired boy on the train, he remembers the story of Remus and Romulus from the storybooks, remembers the baby boy who grew up to change the world, and wonders if they could change the world, the two of them together, so that their names might mean greater things.

Remus smiles and James feels something in him melt.

* * *

“I’m a _werewolf_ , James, this isn’t _funny_!”

“Mate, dunno if you’ve given it much thought, but your name’s _Remus_.”

“Of all things…”

“You love me for it, though.”

* * *

He is fourteen when he realizes that maybe, watching Remus like he does isn’t all that normal. And James, being James, immediately throws himself into chasing Evans all that much more. She scoffs at his earnest attempts to garner her attention and he is secretly a little thankful, because as long as he is chasing her, no one will give a second glance to the way he watches Remus leave rooms or studies the curve of his jaw when he chews on his lip while reading. She is safe and perfectly beautiful in her own way, and he thinks he would not mind being with her if she ever said yes.

But Remus makes his heart thud in the mornings, makes him feel six years old and eager to discover all over again, and even a brush of a thumb across an arm feels all too charged these days. There is raw electricity between them and James is confused, oh so confused, but it is glorious. Everything is, when Remus is involved, and he chases everything and anything blindly.

When he is fifteen, Remus kisses him in the Prefect’s Bathroom and holds his hand under tables and Moony lets Prongs play a little rougher during the moons. It is one, glorious year filled with pranks that are more spectacular than usual and hearts brimming with joy, but as all good things do, it comes to an end, slowly at first and then gathering pace, like a snowball down a hill.

And Remus, the architect of a new town, a new future, is the one to set things right.

* * *

“We need to talk.” Remus whispers across the gap between their beds, one night, stretching out fingers to twine between James’. “I… I can’t keep doing this with you, James. I just… feel guilty.”

He has never associated that word with Remus before, saving it for the girls he’s kissed in hallways just when the right amounts of people were watching to spread the news, never associated that word with the love that he feels burning like a fire in his chest, bright and gorgeous and so very warm, and that is when he realizes why Remus has to end this. Sirius. Bright and sharp and glorious, just like the love that roils in James’ chest, tying itself into a knot, and James nods emptily, thankful that the curtains around his bed hide his face.

“Yeah.” His throat is raw and there is a knot building right in the middle of it, and the rustle of sheets gives him a ten second warning before Remus is drawing the curtains aside and getting into bed with him. Remus slides a hand under James’ face, wiping tears away with a sweep of his thumb, and smiles a smile that speaks of things falling apart that can never quite be put back together. You can’t cast a spell and make things better if there are even little pieces missing, and hearts do not break along clean lines like china plates. James feels as if his is crumbling away into dust, disappearing by the second, and he grabs Remus’ upper arms, ready to push him away, but finds that he just _can’t_. “Wh—why are you—"

“Just because we can’t kiss anymore doesn’t mean I don’t love you, Jamie.” Remus says, too long bangs curling into eyes that look like gold, and James squeezes his shut so he doesn’t have to see them anymore. They are not his, for nothing is his for too long. “You know you’re my best friend.”

James sobs, a dirty, ugly thing, and hides his face in Remus’ shoulder, his tears soaking the shoulder of Remus’ worn out jumper. He has never been a pretty crier. Sirius probably even makes crying attractive, that jerk. Remus hums softly, carding his fingers through James’ hair, and is gone when James wakes up.

“I’ll take notes for you”, says the ragged piece of paper that Remus has taped to James’ forehead, and he is thankful that Remus has given him an opportunity for peace, at the end of all of this. That he will give James the gift of time, even if he will not come back afterwards, to collect at least most of the pieces of himself and melt them together to fit a new mold.

Prongs is distant, the next moon, and Moony mourns.

* * *

Seventh year brings with it the stress that comes with being an adult responsible for the running of an estate, and James is too busy for pranks and general silliness between Head Boy duties and studying for exams that have suddenly become earth-shakingly important. Sirius and Remus are draped over a couch together, fingers laced together and laughing madly, and James averts his eyes more because he can’t stand seeing Remus with anyone else than because it is Sirius playing with yet another person.

“What’s it to you, Jamie?” Sirius calls from the couch, chuckling as if there is a joke that James missed. “Is me and Moony shagging going to end the Marauders?”

James stiffens, wanting to say something smart, like “Me and Moony shagging didn’t”, but the words fail him. He grins brightly, so brightly that he could have stolen Sirius’ name right out from where it hides in his heart, and says that the Marauders aren’t the sort of thing that ends, sillypants. Remus watches him leave and he just _knows_ , because he can feel his eyes boring holes into his back.

James does not turn around, because he is sick of doubting himself and running back to something he knows will hurt, and Remus, for once, does not ask him to stay.

* * *

And just as he stops noticing Remus, he starts noticing Evans all over again. He discovers an even scarier prankster than any of the Marauders under a thin veneer of propriety, finds a girl that likes to laugh more than anything else in the world behind a curtain of red hair, and realizes he is falling love when his heart jumps like it hasn’t in years. There are whole universes in her smile and stars are born in her laugh for the sole purpose of showing the sky what true beauty is.

She agrees to go to Hogsmeade with him, in the winter of their seventh year, and Sirius whoops loudly, patting him on the back, while Peter grins. Remus nods his approval, smiles tiredly, and James is happy, because even though everything is still a fresh wound between them, it means that they might be best friends again, someday.

Lily means pure, he muses, as he shrugs off his jacket and drapes it around her shoulders like a cloak. And that fits nicely enough with the supplanter, once betrayed but now grasping for salvation like a drowning man grabs desperately for air. Perhaps two men, both with names that promised a fresh start, were just too much for each other.

He kisses her like there’s no tomorrow, because in some ways there isn’t. There is a war coming, and they might all die tomorrow, or the day after. She laughs, throwing her head back like a little girl, and reaches over to an outcropping of brick to grab the snow on it and before smearing it across his face.

He splutters, gasping for air, and barely manages to fill his palm and throw it back. They are both dizzy and holding onto each other for dear life when they rise above the adrenaline filled haze of a snow battle, and he kisses her again because she is so, so incredibly worth protecting and he does not see a single way this world could make him let her go.

“Marry me.” He blurts out, and she runs her still sopping wet palms down the sides of his face.

“Maybe.” She winks and he tugs her knit cap lower down so she loses her balance.

He feels alright, a little lighter, and the world seems to come into focus like it hasn’t been in nearly a year. All the colors are just a little brighter, the red of her hair and green of her eyes just a little more vibrant, and James laughs, loud and long, just because it is wonderful to see the sky in all its colors again.

“I feel okay.” He says, in the direction of Remus’ empty bed, later that night. Remus might be down in the common room with Sirius, or sequestered in the library, or raiding the kitchens with Peter, but for the first time in a while, James doesn’t care. “I actually, really feel okay.”

He is greeted by blessed silence and smiles to himself as he falls asleep.


End file.
